


Dirty Laundry

by MissDavis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: At least I tried for humor, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, POV John Watson, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 4, Sherlock tops this time though, switchlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9976925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDavis/pseuds/MissDavis
Summary: If they got far enough along, John knew he would stop noticing the steady clanking thump of the washer, but so far he'd been unable to keep himself from being distracted.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Callie4180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie4180/gifts), [hubblegleeflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubblegleeflower/gifts).



> Written for the [Come_at_once Challenge](http://come-at-once.livejournal.com/) on LJ, which gives participants 24 hours to write a smutty fic based on a prompt.
> 
> My prompt was from [Callie4180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie4180/pseuds/Callie4180) (via [hubblegleeflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubblegleeflower/pseuds/hubblegleeflower)): "What did you tell him?"

"Stop it," John said, pulling his hips away just enough that Sherlock had to squirm forward to keep the tip of his cock inside him. They were lying on their sides on the bed, which wasn't John's favorite position, but did give him a bit more control than having Sherlock's full weight on top of him.

"Stop what?" Sherlock was already a bit breathless, which was quite satisfying to hear. "I know you don't want to stop." He reached over John's left hip and gave him a stroke for emphasis.

"You're fucking me in time to Mrs. Hudson's washing machine." 

"I am not." Sherlock started moving again, then immediately stopped. "Sorry. It’s loud and hard to ignore."

"I'll set the pace," John said and pressed himself back again, allowing Sherlock to sink in fully once more. If they got far enough along, he knew he would stop noticing the steady clanking thump of the washer, but so far he'd been unable to keep himself from being distracted.

He made a point of thrusting back and forth slowly, out of sync with the machine running in the flat beneath them. The pace made Sherlock dig his fingers hard into the skin just above John's hips, and John relished the knowledge that he was holding Sherlock back almost as much as the feeling of his cock moving inside him. He didn't touch himself yet, though he knew their time alone like this was limited. 

"Mm." Sherlock tipped his head so he was speaking directly above John's ear. "This leisureliness is lovely, but we won't get very far before Rosie wakes from her nap."

"Listen to you, with your alliteration." John wiggled his hips so he rocked side to side on Sherlock's cock. "She won't be up for at least an hour."

"Famous last words," Sherlock said, lowered his head to bite at John's shoulder.

"Ow! Don't bite me." He jerked his arm forward but was careful not to make Sherlock pull out. 

"Made you harder," Sherlock said, and brushed over the spot he'd just bitten before running his hand down along John's chest, stopping only when his fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his stomach. "I want to go faster," he said, punctuating each word with a quick jerk of his hips.

"Unh. Okay." John curved his left shoulder forward so his face was half-buried in the pillow and started moving the lower part of his body in earnest, the moaning sounds this elicited from Sherlock reinforcing his own pleasure. He gave up on trying to move slowly and threaded his fingers through Sherlock's hand where it sat low on his belly, drawing both their hands down to his own cock.

They managed no more than a half-dozen strokes before Sherlock's phone buzzed, the sound magnified against the wood of the night stand where it sat.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said, which was not a word that John particularly wanted to hear while in the middle of an intimate encounter. 

"That's nice," John murmured. "Keep going, just like that—ah. Okay, fine. Check your phone first."

"I don't need to—" 

"Yes, you do. Your whole body just tensed up and not in the way it's supposed to right now."

Sherlock hesitated a second longer, before saying, "It'll just be a second."

John groaned at the sudden absence of warmth and pressure behind him. He rolled onto his stomach, letting his hands migrate to his groin. If Sherlock was about to go haring off on a case, John was going to get himself off first.

He ran his thumbs lightly along the sides of his cock while Sherlock checked his texts and then typed out a reply. John raised himself up on one elbow, snapping his hips against the mattress in search of a bit more stimulation. "Case?"

"Yes, but I am otherwise occupied and not available at this time," Sherlock replied, and dropped dramatically back down onto the mattress. "That's not what I told him, though. I told him you'd been wearing an anal plug all day, waiting for me."

"I was not and you did not tell him that."

"You should have been." Sherlock rolled onto his side again and threw one leg over John's. He traced a finger down to the bottom of John's spine and then circled the slick, stretched opening he'd recently been filling. "You knew it was my turn."

John sighed, half in exasperation and half in pleasure, and pushed the pillow out of the way so he could put his face down on the mattress. He was mostly on Sherlock's side of the bed, which was ideal; tonight Sherlock could be the one to sleep in anything that leaked, spurted or drooled out of him. "What did you tell him, really?"

"That I had you spread face down on the bed and stretched to just the right size and I needed to finish what I started."

"Liar," John said, and then gasped as Sherlock straddled him and re-entered in one long, smooth movement.

"Mm. I told him the secret twin did it. It should take him a couple hours to figure out there's no secret twin. By then we'll be done, and Rosie will be awake. We can bring her with us."

"No," John said, and then, "Oh God, yes," as Sherlock began to move again, once more in the rhythm matching the drone of the washing machine below them. That was fine. It was all fine.

Sherlock adjusted his knees on either side of John's thighs and the change in position was—"There! Yes, like that!" The accuracy with which Sherlock was finding his prostate on each stroke reminded him of something he'd seen online the other day. It wasn't the sort of advert he normally looked at, but something had made him click on it. "They have these ribbed condoms, that are designed for—this." He lifted his hips slightly from the mattress and took a firm hold of himself. "They have ridges that fall...right there...and...we should try them. Oh." He kept his arse pressed as tightly against Sherlock as he could and began to grind into his own fist, all thoughts of drawing this encounter out as long as possible abandoned.

"Excellent idea," Sherlock said, not breaking pace. "And, if we start using condoms, I can find Wiggins and start sharing needles again."

John stopped, letting himself collapse beneath Sherlock, who tried and failed to follow him down without slipping out.

"Not funny?"

He twisted his head to glare at Sherlock. "No."

"A little funny?" 

"No," John repeated, though his attempt to emphasize the severity of the failed joke was derailed when Sherlock grabbed his extremely slick and extremely hard cock and shoved it back into John's arse. "Unh," he managed, instead of another reprimand.

"Sorry," Sherlock said, his voice low and silky and not the least bit apologetic. "Let me make it up to you."

John let him—Sherlock took over, slipping his right hand under John to pull at his cock and clutching at John's hip with his left as he pounded into him, possibly in time with the washer, possibly ruled by some internal rhythm they shared. Who cared, when it felt like this? They—

Sherlock paused. "Did you hear that?"

"No. What? Don't stop."

"Thought I heard Rosie make a sound."

"Just finish! She can cry for a minute or two." Rosie knew how to climb out of her cot, but she almost always preferred to scream until one of them came to pick her up instead.

"What are we going to do when she gives up taking naps?"

It was hard to focus enough to think of an answer. "She'll go to bed earlier then, we can do this at night."

"Ah, yes. And soon enough she'll be in school and we can do this all day every day."

"Yes, I'll just quit my job so I can fuck you all day. Keep going!" John pushed himself up a few inches with his right arm, which gave Sherlock more room to stroke him off without disrupting his angle of entry.

"So you can be fucked," Sherlock said and John was tempted to pull off and climb on top of Sherlock and show him who would be fucking whom, but then Sherlock dropped nearly all his weight onto John's back. Without letting go of his cock, he wrapped his other arm around John's chest, pinching and twisting at his nipple. "Like this," Sherlock growled, and John heard himself make a long squealing sound that would've been fairly embarrassing had he not made Sherlock make a similar sound many times in the last year or two.

He wasn't sure who got there first—he felt Sherlock's head fall against his shoulder and his body go still just as his own climax hit, all sensation gathering to a single point that seemed unbearable until it burst and expanded into furious, glorious release. Neither moved for a long moment, until John finally groaned, "You're heavy," and squirmed enough to force Sherlock to roll off his back.

Sherlock slid into a boneless heap next to him. "Good night," he mumbled.

"Nope," John replied. "Go get some tissues. I can't move." 

"Mmph," Sherlock replied, waving a hand in the general direction of the loo. "I—" he began, and then jumped as Mrs. Hudson's washer abruptly came to a halt, emitting a series of three loud beeps to signal the end of its cycle. John couldn't keep himself from giggling at Sherlock's shocked expression. 

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock said. "I was startled because my focus was elsewhere." He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. The moment he stood, a long, pitiful wail pierced the air. They stared at each other until Sherlock began to laugh as well. He bent to pick up John's clothes from where they'd ended up on the floor and tossed them onto the bed. "Go have a shower. I'll take care of Rosie, then we can all go see what Lestrade needs this time."

John turned onto his back, stretching out all his limbs and ignoring the wet spot beneath him. He watched as Sherlock pulled on his clothes, but his thoughts had already moved on to later tonight. They could do this again, only with fewer distractions and more time to savor the experience. All they had to do was solve Lestrade's case quickly and get Rosie home to bed early. Elementary.


End file.
